


no, I've got nothing to say

by themetaphorgirl



Series: Waving Through a Window [7]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Baby Spencer Reid, Drama, Gen, Kidfic, Spencer is a precocious child, someone please supervise this child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23518969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetaphorgirl/pseuds/themetaphorgirl
Summary: Twelve is too young to move away from home and start college alone.
Series: Waving Through a Window [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673107
Comments: 28
Kudos: 329





	no, I've got nothing to say

**Author's Note:**

> "if you're falling in a forest, and there's nobody around, do you ever even crash or even make a sound?"
> 
> Spencer Reid grew up too fast, too harsh, too lonely. His "intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions" and for a long time he thought he could be just fine without connections. After all, he learned quickly how to survive as a little kid in high school, as a child prodigy in college, as a fatherless kid taking care of his mother while she couldn't take care of him. He could rely on his intelligence, instead of feelings.
> 
> Once he joined the BAU, however, the team quickly formed their own ideas.
> 
> Part 7 of 22
> 
> also published on ff.net under the name Keitorin Asthore

_no, I got nothing to say_

He had left the state of Nevada exactly once, when he was three. His mother was speaking at a conference in Boston. He remembered the plane ride, how his ears popped and his mother read Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland aloud to keep him calm. He remembered the hustle and bustle of the airport, the sun shining in unfamiliar streets, the cool air of the lecture hall as he heard his mother's familiar voice amplified over the speakers to a rapt audience. His father didn't come with them.

Now he was leaving Nevada for the second time, this time alone.

The letters started arriving during the fall of his senior year, just before his twelfth birthday. MIT, Harvard, Penn State. Yale's letter arrived just after Christmas break, so at least he had his safety school confirmed. But he was waiting for Caltech, and when it came it promised something else. _Full ride._ He had a full ride scholarship to his dream school.

Diana had kissed him, fussed over him, hung the letter on the refrigerator like she would a twelve-year-old's art project. She even took him out to dinner that night, let him order whatever he wanted. It was one of her better days.

The last few weeks of school passed in a blur. Senioritis, they called it, but he wasn't looking forward to that last great summer before starting college. He was looking forward to school, to challenging classes, to taking his first steps on a path that would lead him to bigger, better, brighter things.

Sometimes he dreamed about the night his father left, replaying that last conversation.

_Statistically, children who grow up in two parent households attain three more years of higher education than children from single parent households._

_We're not statistics, Spencer._

His mother sent an invitation to his high school graduation to his father. He wouldn't have known about it if it hadn't arrived back at the house, his father's address scribbled out. _Return to sender._

He was valedictorian. They had to cut six inches off his graduation robe and give him a box to stand on to reach the microphone- he had a growth spurt coming, he knew it, but it hadn't hit yet- and he gave his speech. He had found a way to keep the bigger kids off his back; he started coaching the basketball team the winter of his junior year with minimal knowledge of sports but plenty about mathematics. They weren't friends, per se, but they kept the football team off his back.

At least they never tied him to a goalpost again, and they didn't put the photo in the yearbook.

Summer stretched out before him, sweltering and suffocating, trapping him in the safety of the air conditioned house. Mostly he studied. He was going in for a double major, psychology and sociology, and he read everything he could get his hands on.

He was packed two weeks before his departure date. Everything he wanted to take could fit in his backpack and two suitcases.

He didn't sleep the night before he left. He stared at the ceiling, his nightlight casting comfy shadows, calculating. What if Caltech wasn't a good fit? What if he needed to change his major? What if his mother couldn't function without him doing chores and buying groceries? At least he could pay the bills remotely.

He stayed awake until sunlight peeked merrily through his blinds. It didn't take long to get ready, and before long he was standing by the door, suitcases stacked beside him.

"Mom?" he called. "Mom, I'm ready!"

She didn't answer. He frowned and headed towards her room. "Mom, I'm ready to go," he said. "I know I'm early, but did you know that some public bus routes can vary from their departure times by up to twelve minutes on average?" He pushed the door open. "Mom?"

Diana sat at her computer, frantically flipping through a book. "Hm?" she said. "What, baby?"

"It's time to go," he said. "Remember?"

She squinted at the page through her reading glasses. "Go where, baby?" she said.

"To the bus station," he said. "I'm going to college today. Remember?" She didn't look up from her book. "I'm going to be gone until fall break." She still didn't look up, and frustration thudded in his chest. "Mom!"

She glanced up and frowned. "No need to shout," she said. "What do you want?"

"Are you going to take me to the bus station?" he asked, and he hated that his voice came out small and wobbly.

"Oh, right, right, right, that's today," she said, frowning. "Oh, honey. I can't...I can't go out today." She shrugged, vaguely gesturing at the books and papers heaped around her. "You understand. It's one of those kinds of days. I have to...I have to stay here, where it's safe. Get some work done. You can take some money out of my purse for a taxi. You understand."

He did understand. Sort of. He knew that his mother's brain was erratic, firing on the wrong synapses, giving her the wrong information about the world around her. She couldn't help it. But he also knew that he was still a kid, and he wanted his mom, and the mom he wanted wasn't in the body he saw before him.

"I understand," he said at last, and Diana smiled at him.

"That's my smart boy," she said. She held out her arms. "Come here, baby. Kiss me goodbye."

He obeyed. She hugged him, her arms stiff and thin, her sweater hanging off her body like tattered flesh on a skeleton. He kissed her cheek; her skin was cold and tight. He was saying goodbye now, but he felt like he had said goodbye to his real mother years ago.

"Be good," she said. "Don't talk to strangers. Get plenty of sleep, and eat more. You're too skinny. And get a haircut." She brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. "Cover your windows, my dear. Don't let them see you, or they'll take you."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, a lump rising in his throat. "I love you."

She smiled absently. "I love you too, Crash," she said, and she turned back to the computer.

He stood there for a moment, flipping pages and typing busily, and then he turned and left. His mother's purse was on the kitchen counter; he dug through the junk and found her wallet. He took just enough for the taxi ride to the bus station.

The cab driver tried to talk to him on the ride. "You goin' to grandma's house or something?" he asked, jovial.

"I'm going to college," Spencer said. "I have a full ride to Caltech. I'm going to be a double major."

The cab driver burst out laughing. "Good one, kid!" he said. "Oh, that's real funny." Spencer turned his head toward the window and rested his forehead against the glass.

The driver dropped him off at the curb and helped him get his mismatched suitcases out of the trunk. "Okay, kiddo, you be good at college," he said, snickering.

"But I am going to college," Spencer objected, but the cab driver didn't hear him and drove off.

He had never been to the bus station before. The crowds were vast and fast moving and loud, the air smelled thick and hot with exhaust. He wanted his mother. But he pictured his mother lost in the middle of the crowd, and maybe it was better he was alone. She wouldn't be able to take care of him, anyway.

He clutched his ticket in his hand till it crumpled, scanning the ticket and the sign posts he passed in search of his bus. He found the right queue, but he was several hours early. He settled for sitting on a bench where he could watch the station, and the second the correct bus pulled up he jumped in line.

The bus driver took his ticket and checked it. "Unaccompanied minor?" he said.

"Yes, sir," Spencer said, holding onto one of his suitcases with both hands with the other one leaned against his knee.

"You got someone scheduled to pick you up?"

"Uh...yes, sir."

The driver tore his ticket. "Leave your suitcases here, we'll put the under the bus," he said.

Spencer hesitated, but he obeyed, hefting his backpack on his shoulder and clambering up the steps of the Greyhound bus. He found a seat towards the back and settled himself by the window, setting his backpack on the seat next to him in the hopes that other passengers would leave him alone.

It was nearly eight hours from Vegas to Pasadena in a car; with the extra stops the bus would take at least ten and get there early in the morning. He spent most of his time reading, until the rocking of the bus and the gasoline fumes gave him a headache and upset his stomach. By then he was exhausted enough to nap, curling up into a little ball with his feet hooked under the armrest and his head resting on the window.

He got out at rest stop and fueling stops to stretch his legs or getting water from the fountains. Once he bought a snack at a vending machine and he ate it slowly. The school was paying for a full meal plan, he could eat as much as he wanted once he got on campus but right now he needed to save his money.

When he ran out of books to read he stared out the window, reading license plate numbers and counting telephone poles. About two hours away from Pasadena he saw signs for Disneyland. He'd wanted to go there when he was little. His dad promised to take him when he was seven. They never went. Just like how he never got a bicycle when he turned six.

The bus arrived in Pasadena early in the morning, before the sun had risen. Freshman orientation didn't start until nine, so he lugged his suitcases to a nearby 24-hour McDonalds and ate a hashbrown while reading a couple of outdated newspapers.

He was able to walk right to the campus when it was time- well, still early, but close enough. It was a long walk, but the late summer morning was much more pleasant than walking through Vegas.

The campus was everything he'd dreamed. Spacious, well appointed, the green lawns lush and well manicured. A banner hung jauntily over the quad- _welcome, freshmen!_ Information tables lined the edges of the quad, manned by fresh-faced upperclassmen in blue tee shirts emblazoned with "orientation staff" in bold white letters. New students filed from table to table, most of them accompanied by their parents. His stomach flipflopped, but he shouldered his backpack and headed to the first table.

He filed down the line, gathering what he needed- the schedule for orientation week, a map of the campus, his class schedule. Every time he had the same conversation.

"Name?"

"Reid, Spencer."

"Are you picking up for your big brother?"

"No, it's for me."

And he would show his state-issued Nevada ID, not a driver's license or even a permit, and explain he graduated high school at twelve, but really he was smart, he was valedictorian, he had a full ride-

-and they would zone out and hand him the next paper to stop his stream of talking, and tell him where to go next.

He got his photo taken for his school ID. When it was printed they dropped it in his hand and he wrinkled his nose at the picture. He looked especially childish in his photo, his cheeks still cherubically round and his glasses a little tilted. His mother was right, he needed a haircut. But the ID card meant he could swipe it in the school dining hall for meals, and he was looking forward to that.

The last step was his residence packet and the key to his dorm room. His new home for the next few years. Maybe longer if he did end up getting a master's or a doctorate.

He dragged his belonging to his new dorm, his arms laden down with orientation papers. The halls of the dorm were cheerfully busy, the doors propped open as dads walked in and out with furniture and mothers scrubbed down cabinets and counters with lysol and sponges.

His room was on the third floor, farthest from the elevator. He could barely wrestle the key into the lock, but he won the battle and stepped inside.

All things considered it was a nice room- two beds, two dressers, two desks, a closet, a wide window. One bed was heaped with plastic bins of belongings. That must be for his roommate.

Spencer unpacked efficiently, hanging his clothes on one side of the closet and stacking his books on the shelf over his desk. He made the bed with the one set of sheets he'd brought from home and draped the old blanket over it. His belongings looked especially shabby now, but seeing something from home was a little reassuring. He took off his shoes, set them beside the bed, and sat down to organize all of his new information.

The key turned in the lock and he jumped about a foot in the air. A lanky boy in his late teens sauntered in, carrying a soda cup from a fast food restaurant. "Hey, man," he said. "What's up?"

"Uh...nothing," Spencer stammered.

The older boy held out his hand. "Nate Woodward," he said. "You must be my roommate's little brother. Spencer Reid, right? That's my roommate. What's your name, little guy?"

His mouth went dry. "It's, uh...Spencer," he said. "I'm your roommate."

Nate did a double take. "No shit?" he said. "Uh, no offense, man, but what's happening? Do you have, like, a condition? You look like you're twelve. No offense, man."

"None taken, I am twelve," Spencer said.

Nate burst out laughing. "No shit!" he said. "Goddamn, my roommate's a twelve-year-old. What grade are you supposed to be in, fifth?"

"Seventh," he said uncomfortably.

Nate was still laughing. "Oh, man, that's hilarious," he said.

An older man walked in, dressed down but nicely in a polo shirt and dark blue jeans. "What's the joke, Nathan?" he said.

"Dad, Dad...this is Spencer Reid," Nate said. "My roommate." Mr. Woodward looked puzzled. "He's twelve!"

"Twelve?" Mr. Woodward repeated. "Wow. You must be a child prodigy."

"Actually, child prodigies are specifically under the age of ten, so I've aged out," Spencer said. "Additionally, prodigies tend to be brilliant in a specific field. I underwent pretty rigorous testing starting when I was seven, and my intelligence is spread pretty evenly across subjects."

Mr. Woodward frowned. "What's your IQ?" he asked.

"187," he said, adjusting his glasses. "My SAT score was 1590."

"Shit, really?" Nate said. "I got a 1475."

"Nate, language," Mr. Woodward warned. "Well, Spencer...welcome to Caltech. I graduated from here myself, I'm sure you'll…" He paused. "Fit in nicely."

Nate opened one of the tubs on his bed. "You don't mind if I start unpacking, right?" he said.

"Oh, no, not at all," Spencer said.

"You need any help?"

"No, I'm all set."

Nate shrugged, but Spencer caught Mr. Woodward scanning his few belongings with a critical eye. "Cool, cool," Nate said, and he switched on his radio to a top hits station.

Spencer went back to his papers and started scribbling down a list of textbooks from his class list. The bookstore wouldn't be open till tomorrow but he could go there first thing. He could start reading ahead, get prepared.

"Nate, honey?"

"In here, Mom."

Mrs. Woodward entered the dorm room, a petite woman with wavy red hair. "I'm going to run to Target, is there anything else you need?" she said.

"Not that I can think of," Nate said. "Oh! Mom, this is my roommate, Spencer."

"Hi, Spencer, I'm-" She paused as she turned towards him. "I'm Angela, Nate's mom." She held out her hand and he shook it gingerly. "You're starting your freshman year?"

"Uh-huh," he said. "I'm a double major in psychology and sociology."

"Shit, you already know? I'm still undecided," Nate laughed.

"Language," Mr. Woodward warned again.

Spencer could tell that Angela was scrutinizing him but he didn't know what she was looking for her. What did she see? A skinny kid, his hands and feet too big for his slight frame but hinting at the growth spurt to come, his shaggy and unkempt hair, the wrinkled secondhand clothes that didnt fit and probably smelled like a Greyhound bus. She probably was thinking that he didn't belong in college, much less Caltech.

"Well, I'll be back in a little bit," Angela said. "Call me if you think of anything else you need, okay?"

"Yeah, Mom, sure," Nate said absently as he pulled stacks of CD cases out of the boxes and tossed them on his shelves. Spencer went back to his book.

The Woodwards spent quite a bit of time getting Nate's side of the room set up. Brand new bedding on the twin be, posters hung across the walls, clothes folded into the dresser or hung up on the rail. Everything was shiny and new, even the frames that housed personal photos- mom, dad, son, family dog, teammates, friends. Mr. Woodward set up a brand new laptop on the desk, fresh from the box. Angela came in later with cleaning supplies, pillows, snacks for the minifridge, more knickknacks, folders and pens and pencils. They moved around him as if he was a deserted island in the middle of their bustling sea.

"Spencer, we're going to go to dinner," Angela said. He glanced up, genuinely surprised to see early evening shining through the window. "Are your parents coming to get you?"

"Oh, uh...no," he said. "My mom is back home, in Las Vegas. I came by myself."

"Aren't you hungry?" Angela asked. "You can come with us if you'd like."

He was starving. The McDonald's hashbrown and the vending machine snack were a long time ago. "I'll be fine," he said. "I'll go to the dining hall."

Angela hesitated, but Mr. Woodward was already gathering his things. "C'mon, Nate, let's go," he said. "Anywhere you like."

Nate pocketed his cellphone. "Cool," he said. "See you later, Spencer."

"See you," he echoed, and the Woodwards left him alone in the room. He pulled out the map and scanned it for the dining hall. It was in the upper floor of the student center, with a food court below. His stomach rumbled noisily. He made sure his student ID was in his pocket, attached his dorm room key to his keychain along with the tarnished key to the front door in Las Vegas, and headed out.

The student center was unlocked and freshmen were milling around on the couches and armchairs, but the lights were off in the food court. That was fine. He could eat upstairs in the dining hall.

But when he took the stairs, the lights were off there too, and the double doors closed. A sign was taped to the door- _opening tomorrow at 5pm._

He leaned back in disappointment. There wasn't enough money to go get food somewhere else. He would just have to wait till tomorrow.

Spencer trudged back to his dorm room, his empty stomach turning in knots. It would be fine. Everything would be fine. A human didn't need to worry about starvation until they went without food for thirty, sometimes forty-five days. He could survive on a hashbrown and a snack cake for forty-eight hours.

He went back to his room and reorganized his books, then reorganized them again. Maybe the library would open in the morning, give him something to do while he waited for classes to start. Judging by the itinerary, most of freshman orientation wouldn't be very fun for him. Parties, mixers, fraternity and sorority receptions. His empty stomach squeezed. Maybe he didn't belong in college life. Maybe he should have stayed home in Las Vegas. For a moment, he thought about calling his mother, but she'd long ago stopped answering the telephone. The goverment, she insisted, was listening to her.

The Woodwards came back late, laughing and chatting. They didn't acknowledge him. He packed up his papers and placed them carefully on his empty desk. The Woodwards said their goodbyes, hugging Nate, talking over their plans for tomorrow.

"Oh, Spencer," Angela said. "We passed by the dining hall on the way out, it looked closed. I picked something up for you to eat. I hope you don't mind."

She held out a white plastic bag holding a big styrofoam container. "Thank you," he said, surprised. "Thank you, that's...really nice."

She smiled at him. "You're my son's roommate, that means you're practically family," she said. "If you ever need anything, anything at all, just let Nate know, okay?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Woodward," he said.

"You can call me Angela," she said. She handed him the bag and squeezed his shoulder gently. "It's been lovely to meet you, Spencer."

The Woodwards gave their last goodbyes to Nate. He balanced the warm Styrofoam container on his crossed legs, wondering if it was good manners to start eating now. His stomach growled.

Nate closed the door behind his parents, then turned to Spencer. "Hey," he said. "I'm, uh...gonna go out to a party. You wanna come?"

"Somehow I get the feeling I'm not the ideal party guest for a college rager," he said dryly.

"Oh, fair, fair," Nate said. "I'm gonna go, though. Don't tell my parents?"

Spencer glanced at the gifts spread across Nate's side of the room. "Sure," he said.

"Awesome," Nate said. "See you later, dude."

Nate left the room with a lighthearted whistle. Spencer sighed heavily and opened the to go bag. It was lasagna, still warm, and he dug in eagerly. He probably should ration it, and he was usually pretty good at that, but right now he was too hungry. It had been a really, really long day.

Once his belly was full sleep began to tug at his eyelids. He changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed, but he hesitated. Back home in Las Vegas he thought he wouldn't need his nightlight. He was a freshman in college now.

But he was twelve, and he was hundreds of miles from home, and from outside the cinderblock square of his dorm room he could hear the noise of the college campus. Childishly he pulled his blankets over his head and tried to quiet his mind long enough to fall asleep. Lucky for him, he was so tired that sleep caught him quickly, before he could get too nervous to wake himself up.

College life began to settle after freshman orientation week. He wasn't cut out for student life, but he was definitely cut out for college. For the first time he felt challenged. He could ask questions and the professors could actually answer him. Every night he returned to his dorm room- usually all by himself while Nate went to parties or football games- and studied. The only problem was that there just weren't enough hours to get work done. Routinely he fell asleep at one, two, three in the morning, hunched over his desk, and dragged himself to his seven AM classes groggy and grumpy.

That's when he discovered Starbucks. There was one in the student center that took the flex pay on his dining card. He saw all the older students walking on campus with their coffee cups, and after some research he decided what he wanted to try first.

It was magical. He felt better, more awake, less irritated. Sure, he felt pretty awful in the afternoons, but that was after classes. His mother never let him have coffee, telling him it would stunt his growth. That was a risk he was willing to take.

The only real problem he had was getting to his classes on time. None of his buildings were anywhere close to each other and he was constantly running from one to the other to try to make it on time, sometimes tumbling into the room a minute or too late, red faced and out of breath. He was taking twenty-three hours' worth of credits, it was a lot of running.

"Dude," Nate said one day as he stumbled into his dorm, sweating and drooping. "You gotta do something about that."

"I can't get a license," Spencer said as he pulled off his jacket. "I looked it up. I don't qualify for a hardship license. And I don't have a car."

"Why don't you just get a bike?"

"More affordable, but also not in the budget," Spencer panted. Plus, his father never got around to teaching him how to ride a bike, but that wasn't necessary information.

"I'll call my dad," Nate said. "I got an old bike, he can bring it up on parents' weekend. Cool?"

"Your father would be okay with that?"

Nate shrugged. "He always says I got too much stuff cluttering up the garage, so, sure," he said.

True to his word, Mr. Woodward brought the bicycle from home, a shiny red and blue model with a helmet. It was in practically perfect condition, almost new. Spencer wondered how many times Nate rode it before he got bored. That was a common theme with Nate.

He rolled the bike out to the science department parking lot on Sunday, when everyone was gone. It shouldn't be that difficult to teach himself. Even with his distinct lack of athleticism, it was just physics. He could do it.

He straddled the bike, pushed off the ground, tipped over.

It wasn't as easy as he had hoped.

It took the entire day, until the sun went down and the parking lot lights came up, before he could make slow wobbly circles around the lot without falling. His palms and knees were badly scraped from repeated falls and his whole body was sore the next morning, but it was worth it. He could ride his bicycle around campus now.

Everything was falling into place. Until he went home for Christmas.

He made the long bus ride from Pasadena to Vegas, this time with just his backpack, and this time he stocked up on snacks in the student center. His mother wasn't there to meet him, but that was okay, he wasn't expecting that. He'd see her at home.

The front door was unlocked and the lights were off. Not a Christmas decoration to be found, much less a gift. "Mom?" he called. "I'm home."

He turned on the lights and headed towards her room. Thick dust covered almost every surface. That was all right, he had two weeks to clean.

"Mom?" he tried again.

She sat at her desk, typing at her computer, surrounded by more books, empty takeout containers, mugs half filled with ice cold coffee and clumps of mold floating on the surface. "Hm?" she said absently.

"Mom, I'm home," he repeated, a lump rising in his throat.

"Who?"

"Spencer," he said, and any confidence he'd gained from his first semester of school fell away and shattered. "Your son."

Now she looked up, delighted. "Spencer!" she said. "There you are. How was school, baby?"

"School's great," he said. He cleared his throat. "When was the last time you ate?"

She scoffed, waving her hand. "I'm fine," she said. "Too much work to be done."

"I'll...I'll make dinner," he said.

"Oh, no, honey, you're too little to use the stove or the oven," she said. "Just order a pizza or something. Whatever you like."

"Okay," he said.

He was home, but it certainly didn't feel like it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so much for your kudos and comments!! I'm going to go through and answer them once this posts. I'm so delighted that y'all are enjoying my writing!
> 
> Up next: Fifteen-year-old Spencer meets a real FBI agent for the first time


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